Black Friday’s gift
“Armed with the knowledge of our past,
we can with confidence charter a course for our future.” —Malcolm X
“He’s small potatoes.”
—Hyman Roth
Black Friday verdict gift sheltered
somewhere in superstorms of emojis…
We shuddered, venting black smoke
from our ears. Some even shed acid
rain tears—then shifted gears—
Putting bloodshot eyes back on the prize
As the governor spoke in tongues:
500 rifles/fixed bayonets. Madame
Speaker’s sonic boom of silence blended
superbly with silent partner—Ol’ Schmo:
“The jury system works; we must abide by
it…” and both babbled, “Build back better…”
Once upon a time, formerly enslaved
Africans/radical Euro-Americans were
Really ‘bout to “Build back better—“
calling it Reconstruction! But ancestors
of Officer Prodigy’s ilk routinely ambushed
them—gunned them down—on sight…
Wow—the more things change…
Black Friday verdict gift, wrapped in thin
clear plastic—flaunting tilted table, marked cards,
loaded dice, thumbed scale rot. Revealing stink of
low Barr-butt-naked-Boss Tweet death cult crookedness.
Black Friday verdict gift, intersecting greedy,
capitalist ball of confusion—hodgepodge patchwork Of
pandemic death. And hives of unhoused on card board
mattresses in tents beneath bridges and freeways. No
screaming saws/drumming hammers—no sawdust gospel to
the rescue raising roofs…
Black Friday verdict gift, reminding us that we
are deep in the throes of class war with dinosaurs
Stalling solar, wind, hydroelectric dreams—with
coal, oil, gas quicksand sifting through the hour
glass, dragging us down like we drag their horse
men down from pedestals.
Black Friday verdict gift—pimp-slapping
the taste out our mouths; kicking us to the curb
for the umpteenth time this millennium.
Reminding us War House, Capitalist Hill, White
Supreme Court are 1% WMD
Reminding us of war with crooked electoral college
filibustering fingers; gnarled gerrymandering hands of
billionaire predators; multimillionaire managers and
gunmen fighting ferociously for the ‘50s—1850s!
Black Friday verdict gift—reminds us of ruins
from Battles of Kenosha, Brunswick,
Charlottesville, Benton Harbor, Flint, Ferguson
leaving us with burned out beliefs; charred trust—
Only Strike-tober-Standing Rock-George Floyd
Summer-2020-Occupy and our lying eyes remain…
© 2021. Raymond Nat Turner, The Town Crier. All Rights Reserved.
Former forklift driver/warehouse worker/janitor, Raymond Nat Turner is a NYC poet; BAR's Poet-in-Residence; and founder/co-leader of the jazz-poetry ensemble UpSurge!NYC. You can Vote for his work at:
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PayPal: paypal.me/towncrierRNT
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